


The Trick is to Keep Breathing

by subtextgirl



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextgirl/pseuds/subtextgirl
Summary: “No matter what might be happening, life has a way of carrying on.” A collection of random scenes set at different points in the current story line.
Relationships: Charity Dingle/Vanessa Woodfield
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	1. Quiet

The first thing Charity notices as she nudges open the front door with her shoulder, unceremoniously dumping the over-priced _David’s_ bag at her feet, is the quiet. The day might’ve been pretty mad, with the morning school and nursery run, followed by a tedious shift at the pub, and finally a last minute trip to the shop to pick up something that’ll pass for the kids’ tea, but she’s not losing her sodding mind. A quick glance next to the abandoned shopping tells her as much. She smiles involuntarily at the sight of four pairs of school shoes, two big, two small, piled haphazardly in their usual spot. Vanessa’s boots are placed carefully next to them. But the silence is still bothering her.

Rounding the corner, she goes to call out, when a pair of socked feet shuffle into view followed by a pointed “ssshhh”. Raising an eyebrow, she finds herself face to face with her granddaughter who glares at her warningly before raising her finger to her lips and turning promptly on her heel back into the living room. With a shake of her head, Charity slips off her own boots, idly contemplating whether she can be bothered to unpack the shopping or just leave it there until Noah’s hunger gets the better of him, before following.

Turning the corner, two heads raise to greet her, crayons clasped tightly and twin massive grins as they wave before returning to their master pieces. Next to them Sarah is pointing at the creepily psychedelic page of an open picture book in front of them, as Moses’ brow furrows in concentration and he reaches for a different colour. Johnny watches him for a second before shrugging and continuing to scribble savagely at his own drawing, too young to appreciate the grin on the teenager’s face as she watches on.

About to make a snarky comment about alien invasion, Sarah catches her eye, nodding her head in the direction of the sofa. She feels her heart falter for a moment at the sight of the sleeping figure curled up in the corner. Her throat constricting traitorously, she turns back to the kids mutely entertaining themselves, only to be met with the sight of Noah creeping carefully down the stairs peering precariously over the duvet bunched in his arms. Suddenly unable to speak, even if it was permitted, she can only watch as her son carries the cover over to the sofa before carefully draping it over Vanessa, who stirs for a moment before her breathing once again deepens. Noah holds his own breath for a second before exhaling and turning toward Sarah with a relieved expression. Noticing his mum, his cheeks colour as he shrugs and heads into the kitchen.

Feeling somewhat like a spare part in the face of the Stepford teens, she watches as Noah goes to flick the kettle before casting a backward glance toward the sofa and instead touches the jug with his hand. Apparently satisfied by the result, he quietly pulls down three mugs, chucking a tea bag in each and turning to Charity, his voice low but gruff.

“She looked knackered, so Sarah made her sit down and by the time the kettle had boiled she was like that.”

Charity finds she can only nod, swallowing heavily.

Noah watches her, rolling his eyes but not before casting another furtive glance at the sofa.

At the table, she hears the beginnings of an excited babble from Moses, who is clearly yet to master the art of whispering, only for Sarah to shush him kindly.

“Ness is tired, ok Moz?” He nods seriously, watching her, as Charity strains to hear the conversation. “So, remember how we said we’re all going to be really quiet so she can get lots of sleep, yeah?”

Unaware of the three pairs of eyes now on him, Moses again nods solemnly before raising his own finger to his lips, pantomiming the gesture back at Sarah, who smiles at him as she leans over and ruffles Johnny’s hair.

Charity’s attention is once more drawn by Noah, whose face is now set in a more familiar and comforting smirk. Catching the brief look that flashes between him and Sarah, she cocks an eyebrow waiting.

Noah clears his throat quietly, despite his expression, keeping his voice low.

“So, seeing as we don’t wanna wake Ness up by cooking, we thought we could order a pizza for tea…”

Sighing, Charity reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, retrieving her bank card and placing it wordlessly in Noah’s outstretched hand. At his victory gesture to Sarah, she can’t keep the smile off her own face, wondering for a moment when she came to see the bits of herself in her kids as a good thing. It doesn’t take much to realise the answer.

Moving back into the room, she sinks down into the chair nearest to Vanessa and allows herself a moment to listen to her fiancée’s slow steady breathing. Beside her Vanessa shuffles and she unthinkingly reaches over, tucking the duvet more securely around her as she mumbles something unintelligible before settling once more. Behind her she hears the quiet clinking of mugs, accompanied by the uneven scratching of crayons on paper and the perennial tapping of thumbs on phones. Feeling the tension of the day ease away, Charity allows her own eyes to close for a minute. She’s home.


	2. Cold

Allowing herself a brief tired sigh, Vanessa rests her head against the damp bathroom tiles. The water is starting to cool to the point of tepid and there is still no sign of Charity. The heavy footsteps of teenagers thundering to their rooms had echoed around the cottage over fifteen minutes ago, yet her fiancée was still unaccounted for. The familiar pull in her stomach, the one she could blame on the treasonous cells in her gut turning against her piece by piece, was back and she strained her ears for any sign that she was in fact the only adult left in the house. Not that that was anything new. The unsolicited thought slipped in and for a moment she let the bitter anger well up inside her. Wasn’t that her _thing_ , being the adult? The sensible one, the stoic on, the one who made sure that uniforms were washed, that there was vaguely nutritious food in the fridge, that Charity had the stability she so desperately craved – that she deserved. No matter the personal cost.

No, that wasn’t fair; Vanessa stops herself. She’d meant what she’d said to Tracy the previous day. Charity was trying. Charity was reading and researching. Charity was doing her best. Okay, so there was an initial blip, but she’d expected that, right? She’d said it herself, and thought it many times more since that first day when the careful voice in her head sent her to Manpreet’s surgery, and the niggling doubt became a persistent fear that fell heavily in every step she took, every cross word she had exchanged. None of this was fair. How could she expect Charity to have the emotional foundation to withstand this shock wave? Not when she wasn’t even sure that she, herself, did. Yet it doesn’t dull the ache, deep in her chest, the nagging reminder of sheer loneliness as she dragged herself upstairs that first night. The surge of relief, as she listened to Charity gently shut the front door behind her as she returned from her shift; the flash of hope as she listened to the movement outside their bedroom, indecision incarnate in the comforting sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom door; the sinking feeling as the sound retreated down the stairs, realising there were no tears left to shed as her eyes drifted closed.

And now is no different, she supposes. The naïve anticipation of soft steps mounting the stairs. The lingering optimism that Charity will just be there. Although the answer as to why is starting to seem hazy and somehow out of reach, a million miles away from the playful memories that she still permits to linger in the crevices of her memory. The time when their lives, her life was not demarcated by an intangible line, _before_ and _after_.

Pulling herself upright, Vanessa allows herself a moment to take in the subtle details of her naked body; the thin silver lines, a permanent reminder of motherhood; the puckered skin delineating her previous skirmish with mortality. There was life before Charity, before the unlikely family they had forged, but it seemed distant, out of reach. But then so too, did the details of that life, the simple joys it brought; overwhelmed by the suffocating presence that had announced itself without fanfare but somehow, in a matter of only weeks, consumed everything in its path.

Shutting down the train of thought before it derailed her completely, Vanessa was caught off guard by a shadow under the door. Her brow crinkles as the door handle moves slowly and she is met by an apprehensive face. Slipping into the room, Charity clears her throat before forcing out a smile. But her eyes hold that now familiar pull of sadness, the one they both do their best to ignore.

Vanessa isn’t daft. She knows Charity is, in any given many moment since her admission, at best only seconds away from tears, or panic, or flight, or whatever comes after that bubbling up from years of trauma and pain laid to rest on false promise and misplaced trust that this time things would somehow be different. The cancer may be affecting her body, but it hasn’t dulled her mind. Her fiancée is still an unpredictably open book. The Charity code laid bare, exposed in its complex simplicity. And she gets it. She’s frightened, terrified, that this easy domesticity, this unexpected security would come crashing down, as experience has taught. Yet somehow, Vanessa has convinced her, convinced them both, that she could somehow turn the inevitable tide, prevent the inescapable descent into heartache and pain. And for what? For the promise of a future that it turns out she had no right to make? The audacity to believe that maybe this time things would work out? Maybe anger _is_ easier.

Charity is watching her cautiously, almost warily, the silent communication normally hardwired between them thinned to a gossamer thread. It’s ironic, she thinks, that she’s probably never understood Charity better.

Tucking stray hair behind her ear, Charity swallows. “You ok?”

Vanessa raises an eyebrow, her shoulders relaxing when Charity finally meets her eyes, before sighing softly.

“Sorry. Stupid question.”

A shiver runs down Vanessa’s spine and she winces as Charity’s face falls for a moment before she schools it back to a careful smile.

“Come on, let’s get you out of there before the water freezes.”

Vanessa knows she’s leaning on Charity a little more heavily than she would like as she forces herself up and out of the water, warm hands remaining on her shoulders until she is steady on her feet. A soft towel is promptly wrapped around her and Charity hovers for a moment before taking a step back smiling self-consciously. Feeling herself mirroring the expression, she is surprised to see that her own arm has reached out until familiar fingers are entangled with her own.

The cool air as she opens the bathroom door, hits Vanessa harder than she anticipated. Charity passes no comment but grabs another towel from the rail. As the bedroom door closes behind them, she feels it wrap around her shoulders as Charity silently busies herself with the task at hand. She tries to take the towel from Charity to complete the action herself, but her limbs feel heavy and graceless and she knows that despite her best effort, Charity can see the sheer force of will it is taking her to remain upright. Instead she casts her eyes down as a clean robe is wrapped around her and tied carefully around her waist. There is a brief pressure on her hand before Charity steers her over to the bed, pushing her gently down onto it. She wants to protest as it’s barely teatime, and this is the opposite of the normal she had practically demanded only days earlier, but all she can do is look up to meet an understanding nod.

“Just for a bit, yeah, babe?”

Despite the fatigue that has settled deep in her bones and shows no sign of leaving anytime soon, Vanessa moves to object. But Charity is looking at her so softly. She scans her face for pity but sees only care and what she has come to trust as _love_ , and instead lets herself be guided tenderly under the covers. As her head meets the pillow, she is almost relieved at the wave of exhaustion that will at least tamp down the thoughts running their dangerous course alone with only their own treacherous company. She prepares herself for the inevitable solitude, but instead Charity rounds the bed slipping in her side and shuffling over until she can curve an arm around Vanessa’s shoulders, pulling her firmly against her. Vanessa stills for a moment. Yet, as a hand smooths over her arm she is surprised to feel some of the coiled tension release, and she yawns deeply. Charity tugs her tentatively and she complies, rolling over until her head comes to rest on warm skin. Taking a breath, the feeling calms her and despite the earlier voice in her head, she seeks comfort in the familiar sensation. There is movement beneath her as a hand reaches up drifting through her hair as lips press gently to her forehead. The warmth settles over her as her eyes drift closed.


	3. Solid

The house is blessedly quiet as she ushers Vanessa through the door and in the direction of the sofa. After firing off a quick text to Tracy to pick the boys up and give them tea, she’d been met on the stairs by a concerned looking Chas who had immediately offered to feed Noah and Sarah and keep them occupied for a few hours, so she could get Vanessa home for some proper rest. It had taken everything in Charity to fight the urge to throw her arms around her cousin at the offer. Instead she just about managed to chuck out a vague insult about Paddy not being able to keep his gob shut. The sympathetic smile and arm squeeze she got in return indicated she was definitely losing her edge. But the funny thing was, she found she didn’t care one bit.

Closing the door of Jacob’s Fold behind her, she feels a profound relief that, if only for a couple of hours, it’s finally just the two of them, the rest of the world shut out. And for the first time in what seems like weeks, it actually feels like _them_. She feels like she can actually breathe.

Vanessa is gingerly removing her bag, wincing as she manoeuvres. Despite the conversation barely an hour ago, Charity still finds herself hesitating, unsure in the moment whether help is wanted or needed. Biting her lip, she chances a glance at Vanessa who is watching her with a face so full of understanding that Charity wonders when the hell she apparently became so emotionally transparent. Yet the thought becomes redundant as Vanessa stops struggling with the bag, lets her shoulders drop and smiles sheepishly at her.

Within a second, Charity finds herself beside her, carefully extricating Vanessa from the bloody ridiculous shoulder strap before unbuttoning her coat and peeling the item gently off her. She waits for a moment for the familiar rebuke that Vanessa can still bloody dress herself. Instead she is met only with a tearful smile that has her swallowing sharply.

“Right you. Sit down, feet up. I’ll stick the kettle on and no arguing missus.”

Busying herself in the kitchen she listens to the now familiar sound of Vanessa lowering herself deliberately into a vaguely comfortable position. She’s briefly grateful that she can’t see the accompanying grimace. Yet she flinches anyway, she realises, in an empathy that she genuinely had never believed existed until a gobby blonde vet flounced into her cellar.

She’s still smiling stupidly as she turns back to the sofa, a mug in each hand.

Vanessa is observing her, her expression open, in a way that makes Charity’s heart fill, as she shuffles over and pats the space on the sofa beside her. Sliding the mugs onto the table, Charity’s barely seated when Vanessa curls into her, head nestling her shoulder, a hand bunching firmly into the loose fabric of her shirt. Operating on instinct, or muscle memory, or some other term that she’s sure she’s heard on one of those nature documentaries Vanessa makes them watch, her arm wraps around slight shoulders, pulling her closer, as she finally exhales.

A muffled noise into her collar makes her look down. Vanessa shifts again and Charity feels the familiar flutter of worry, but when blue eyes meet hers, they are clear.

“Thank you.”

The surprise Charity feels must show, again, on her bloody face, as Vanessa is staring at her softly. Adjusting her grip to pull her closer, she swallows. “Babe. You really don’t have to thank me.”

Vanessa pauses, the look on her face growing serious, but the tears too often a presence of late are absent, and Charity forces herself to wait.

It’s several moments before Vanessa speaks. A myriad of emotions seem to be at play, but Charity is relieved as she feels a hand reach for her own, fingers playing idly with the cuff of her blouse.

“But I do.” Vanessa sighs. “Look, I know I can be a bit stroppy.” She chews on her lower lip. “And I’m not always the best at admitting when I might need a bit of help.” She meets Charity’s eye, as if to make sure she’s really listening, and Charity can do nothing except nod. “But when I was at work earlier, and in pain, and frustrated and upset with myself, and scared out of my mind, I realised that the only person I wanted to see.” She swallows heavily. “That I _needed_ to see, was you.”

Charity can feel moisture in the corner of her eye that no amount of blinking will fix. But Vanessa is still talking, and though the words don’t seem to be making sense, all she can do is listen.

“And then I realised that whenever anything bad happens, even when I’m angry at you, or we’re arguing.” She smiles, the tell-tale glimmer of emotion making itself known. “You’re still the person that I know will come and make it better, who’ll be there.” She sniffs, rearranging their angle, so that Charity has no choice but to look at her. “I love you.”

Not trusting herself to speak, Charity can only watch in wonder as Vanessa reaches out to gently wipe the tear she can feel trailing embarrassingly down her cheek. Following it with a soft kiss, she smiles once more before burying back into Charity’s side. “Now, how about that boxset?”


End file.
